


Get What You Want

by JaneDavitt



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, First Meetings, Flirting, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning for it finishing just as the action begins. This was an impulse fic that fizzled, but it's complete in its own way.</p><p>One night at a BDSM club, Jeremy met a man he can't forget. It's taken him a while to track him down to beg for a session, but now he's found Eric, everything's going to be fine, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get What You Want

Knocking on the door didn't work. The music pounding away behind it meant the polite rap of Jeremy's knuckles, was lost. He took a quick, nervous look around. He'd never been to this part of town before. It was grubby, dark, and scary. Litter blew around, dancing with the chilly breeze and every wall was spray-painted with messages and signs that he supposed were gang-related.

The building he stood before had been a workshop and the conversion into an apartment when the area was re-zoned clearly hadn't tempted anyone with money to move in. No cars were parked in the courtyard to his left, only a straggling row of motorbikes, huge, hulking machines that probably matched their riders for brute strength.

He licked his lips, tasting the mint balm he used, then tried the door. If it was locked, he'd turn and walk away. Come back the next time desperation drove him to this pitch of longing.

It wasn't locked. 

He pushed, it opened, and he walked into the party, the unshielded sound hitting him like a fist.

Music. Loud, loud music, a guitar screaming along with a singer, the insistent thud of the drums anchoring the song. It assaulted his ears, dug sharp fingers into his skull. He wanted to hunch over and cover his ears protectively, but he'd been trained to accept painful, even unwelcome sensations, so he stepped to the side, his back to the wall, and looked around. 

The open space, with its high ceiling and small windows, was full of people, maybe twenty, maybe more, a lot of them turning to look at him. Metal staircases, two of them, led up to a balcony that ran around three sides of the space with doors opening off. Bedrooms, bathrooms, maybe? It didn't feel like a home, so Jeremy wasn't sure. At ground level, there were seats, a U-shape of couches, echoing the balcony above, black, of course, though his money was on vinyl not leather. There was dyed, dead cowhide everywhere else, though. Bikers in black leather, wearing heavy boots and T-shirts covered with lurid designs filled the couches. Skulls seemed popular as a motif. Some women, but mostly men, people staring, lots of people, staring at him, eyes hostile. Oh God, what had he done?

"I don't think you're in the right place."

He whipped his head around. The words spoken into his ear had been amused, not threatening, but he still jumped. He stared up into dark gray eyes and tried to grasp just how big the man beside him was. Six-three, six-four, perhaps, his shoulders wide under a leather vest made by ripping the arms out of a leather jacket. The leather was soft with wear, scuffed and faded. Under the vest, the man wore nothing above the waist, but Jeremy didn't lower his eyes to check out the view. It wouldn't have been respectful. Neither was staring directly into the man's eyes, but he couldn't look away.

Details seeped in anyway. Long black hair, thick and straight, a jutting nose, a powerful jaw, roughened by stubble, wide, well-shaped lips -- and a scar bisecting an eyebrow and another running across the man's throat. Battle scars on a giant.

"I--" He got his voice under control after that first shaky word. "I was invited."

Giant snorted, scorn replacing amusement. "I really fucking doubt it." The man nodded at the door. "Start running, little rabbit. If you're lucky, no one will bother chasing you. And don't come back."

Jeremy shook his head. His legs wouldn't carry him far anyway. He was shaking with adrenaline that had no viable outlet. Given a choice between fight or flight and he'd always choose to kneel, surrender. "I'm here to see the Owner."

Thick eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Who?"

"He lives here." 

Something -- hostility, loss? -- flickered in the steel-gray eyes. "Not now."

"So you know him?" Shouting was hurt his throat, but it was the only way to communicate, short of sign language. 

A second man loomed up beside Jeremy, wearing ink like clothing, tattoos swirling up his arms, down his legs, and over his bare chest. Leather shorts kept Jeremy from seeing how much further the ink extended. He was pierced in ways that looked painful, metal biting into his ears, nose, mouth, and nipples. Jeremy guessed that there was more hanging off the man's cock. The guy didn't look like someone who shied away from pain.

Jeremy respected that.

"Did we order in?" Tattoo was holding a knife, the blade long, curved, and wickedly sharp. "He looks fresh and tender. I'll take a slice."

Jeremy kept his reaction off his face without too much difficulty. Knives didn't scare him. Of course, that only applied to knives wielded with delicate precision by men who knew exactly what they were doing. Somehow he doubted this man fit into that category.

"You didn't piss your pants," Giant observed with a downward glance. "Lucky you. I'd have made you clean it up if you did."

"Wouldn't make you lick it up, though," the second man said. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, a silver stud winking in the light. He drew the back of the blade across it slowly. "'Cause the first thing we'd take is your tongue. Screaming gets old fast."

The threat was too extreme to take seriously and the floor was unadorned concrete in need of sweeping. Urine would get it wet, not dirtier. Three cigarette butts and half a dozen bottle caps littered the immediate area. Jeremy straightened, putting some space between his back and the wall. "I've been invited," he said stubbornly.

A headshake from Giant exposed the half-truth for the wishful thinking it was. "Not to this party. It's friends-only and I don't know you, let alone like you."

So Giant was the host. The Owner. Somehow, that didn't surprise Jeremy. Even with the background blast of music to cloak it, the husky, ruined rasp of a voice registered as familiar.

Even if it'd been two years since he'd heard it.

Finding out the Owner's real name had been difficult, but Jeremy was resourceful, always had been. He wouldn't use it, not without permission, but he knew it.

Eric Dane. He wondered what name the people here knew Dane by.

"We've met," he told Eric. "At another private party. Two years ago at the Signal. You were behind the bar."

He put his arms behind him, holding his left elbow with his right hand, the way he'd been trained to do. Naked, the position would offer his nipples up for tormenting, leaving his ass available for a slap if something about his posture wasn't perfect. He found his balance, though it felt odd to assume this position wearing clothes, and waited.

He was good at waiting.

Eric tilted his head back, mouth tightening. It made him look dangerous and Tattoo picked up on his mood change at once, his lips peeling back in a snarl more genuinely frightening than the knife play.

"Let me deal with the little fucker, huh? Teach him to walk in here like he owns the fucking place."

"No. I'll take care of it." Eric reached past Jeremy and opened the door, pushing Jeremy through it without any care and attention. Jeremy stumbled and fell, sprawled out on the gravel, his hands stinging because he'd used them to break his fall, all dignity lost. From the raucous laughter and catcalls that followed, his unceremonious exit had provided a moment's entertainment for those inside at least.

He didn't remain on the ground for long. Eric stepped through the door and slammed it shut behind him. With a swoop and grab that showcased his strength, he dragged Jeremy to his feet, his grip putting creases in the neatly pressed white shirt Jeremy was wearing with a charcoal gray suit and a black tie. Work clothes. He'd come here from the office, unable to stay away once he had an address. He was good at waiting, but he'd been waiting for years and even he had his limits.

Being slammed against the wall hurt. He was used to pain, but there was a huge difference between the carefully meted out strokes that left him quivering, beautifully broken, and the casual force Eric used. The back of his head throbbed, His weight rested on the balls of his feet, pinned too high for comfort by those big hands.

"Talk to me. Who the fuck are you and what do you want?"

"I'm Jeremy. I want a scene with you." Out here, with the only illumination coming from an inadequate bare bulb above the door, it was impossible to read Eric's expression, but he saw enough to know he hadn't used the right words. He added, "You told me to come to you. You said--" God, how often had he heard the words echo in his head and now he couldn't force them out.

"'If you want to be owned for real, look me up'." Eric recited the words flatly. 

Pleased, surprised, Jeremy smiled at him. "You remembered?"

"No. It's what I say to all the pretty little subs on their knees, groveling to men I wouldn't wipe my wet dick on."

Was that a joke? Jeremy tried another tentative smile that faded when Eric slid his hand up, gripping Jeremy's face painfully tight and turning it toward the light. 

"You didn't know who I was in there." It wasn't quite a question, more as if Eric was working that one out.

"I was blindfolded when we met." From the corner of his eye, he saw that register and knew Eric had finally placed him. 

"You were bruised from bumping into shit." Eric sounded matter-of-fact about it, not outraged or amused. 

"That bothered you back then? It didn't seem to."

Eric laughed and released Jeremy's face. "Don't get me wrong, rabbit. I didn't give a rat's ass if you were marked up. I liked seeing it. I didn't like that they were accidental. That asshole holding your leash kept forgetting he had you, too busy flapping his fucking mouth to his buds."

Stumbling, falling, sharp table corners digging into his thighs, his toes throbbing from being trodden on or stubbed, panic sour in his mouth… Accidents. That was one word for them.

"I was being punished. Trained." Why was he defending Mark?

"Pick one." Eric rubbed his thumb across the corner of his mouth. "Have to say, to me it looked like you were being ignored." 

Jeremy relished humiliation, gloried in abasement. This was neither. This was shame, pure and simple.

"If you want to think that--"

"It's true." Eric let go of him and stepped back, leaving Jeremy off-balance again. "Doesn't matter. I said what I did to piss off the guy you were with, not because I cared. Cost me my tips for the night too. Vindictive little shit, isn't he?"

Yes. "Sometimes, yes. I'm not with Mark now. We dissolved our agreement shortly after that night."

"Is that right."

Eric took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and a heavy steel lighter. The bright flame licked up and the end of the cigarette flared yellow. He took a long drag and blew a plume of smoke from his lips. It clouded the air around Jeremy, making him wrinkle his nose.

"From the way you're screwing up your face, no point in offering you one."

Jeremy had never touched a cigarette in his life. He shook his head. 

Eric held the cigarette up between his fingers, close to Jeremy's face. "Put your mouth where mine was."

"I don't smoke."

"Didn't tell you to suck it."

With a distant amazement, Jeremy realized that Eric was flirting with him. Or testing him. Time to lay down some rules.

"I'll willingly suck your cock, if that's what you wish, but I'd appreciate it if you'd try not to blow smoke in my face."

Eric gave him an incredulous stare. "Are you for real, rabbit?"

"Jeremy. My name is--"

"If you were mine, your name would be whatever I fucking wanted it to be." Eric leaned in, big enough to surround Jeremy with darkness and the earthy smell of leather and hot skin. "But you're not. I don't want you. I don't do the kinky shit no more. The Owner… That was someone else. Someone I don't want to be these days. And then or now, I never fucked scared little bunnies in suits. I went for men like me. I chained them up, I whipped them bloody, I fucked them raw, and if they crawled to me licking my boots, begging to come, I didn't give a shit how blue their balls were as long as I'd had what I wanted from them."

Every word took Jeremy higher, the dark promise and threat of the man towering over him unbearably arousing. He discounted the rhetoric, of course, but the flat delivery, the confidence Eric exuded worked for him. A firm hand…it was all he needed.

"Know what that made me?" Eric asked.

"A Dom?"

"An asshole. Worse than your Mark." Eric pulled back an inch, giving himself room to take another drag. He didn't bother to blow the smoke to the side. Jeremy's eyes stung from it. "And it got boring. I don't like boring. So, I guess what I'm saying is, you never stood a chance of getting my cock in you back then, and you sure as hell don't now, but if you want my permission to go home and jerk off thinking about big, bad me, go ahead, rabbit."

"Is that an order?" Jeremy met Eric's gaze, then deliberately lowered his eyes. "Am I permitted to use a dildo and pretend that it's your cock? If so, what size would be appropriate? I have quite a collection, ranging from finger-sized to eye-watering."

"Are you asking me how big my dick is?" The growled words wrapped around Jeremy's balls like a fist. His cock was rigid, aching for a touch. "Maybe it's a sensitive subject. Maybe I'm as pencil-dicked as you."

"Would that matter? If I was? It's not as if I'd be--"

He didn't finish his sentence. Eric slapped a hand over his mouth, hard enough to qualify as a blow. "No. You wouldn't. Ever."

He'd said something wrong. Eric was furious now, not amused, or mildly intrigued, just plain, old-fashioned angry. 

Jeremy formed the word "please" against the palm gagging him and exhaled, giving up the air in his lungs to Eric, letting it seep out of his lips, crushed against his teeth by the pressure of Eric's hand. He wanted to lick that hand, run his tongue pleadingly across the hard surface, tasting salt, tobacco, sweat. 

He didn't have permission and no way to beg for it.

"Fuck." Eric stepped back, wiping his hand down his leather pants. "Okay, I'm done. Get the fuck out of my sight."

He could speak now. "Please. One night. I'll beg for it on my knees if you'd like to see that."

"Want me to make leaving right now and not coming back an order?"

Jeremy didn't allow his satisfaction to show in his expression or his voice, but he felt it warm him. "If you did, you'd be admitting we're in a place where you can give an order and I have to obey. Are we?"

Eric shook his head. "You like twisting things up, don't you? Let me guess, you're a lawyer?"

"Good guess. Do you still work in the, uh, catering trade?"

Eric snorted. "I was behind the bar that night as a favor to a friend and because I wanted to see the zoo without it costing me a dime. It's not what I do for a living."

Jeremy waited to hear what Eric _did_ do, but Eric didn't satisfy his curiosity. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, ending the conversation.

That wasn't what was supposed to happen. Jeremy forgot himself enough to chase after Eric and grab him by the arm. "No! Wait--"

His jaw exploded with pain, a giant, hot starburst of agony. He landed on the ground for the second time in ten minutes, the breath knocked out of him.

Eric had hit him. Spun around and backhanded him hard, as unthinking a reaction as a man swatting a buzzing fly.

"If you ever put your hand on me without my permission again, I'll break every finger on it."

Jeremy told himself that it was another over-the-top threat, but with his jaw throbbing as he sucked in air, he wasn't inclined to test that theory.

He had to look graceless and ridiculous sprawled out like this. He sat up, the pain ebbing a little. Really, it had been more the shock than the blow that had left his head spinning, though an icepack would definitely be welcome. His body knew what to do. He got to his knees, back straight, knees split wide, opening himself up for inspection, though fully clothed he wasn't exposing anything, and bowed his head. "Thank you for clarifying that, Sir."

His rapidly swelling jaw made the words a mumble, not the deferent but clear diction his former Doms had required, but he did his best.

"You're something else, rabbit." Eric's boots appeared in front of Jeremy, scuffed up and big, like everything about the man. "Why do I get the feeling that you're already halfway to happy, when all's I'm doing is telling you to piss off and giving you the back of my hand?"

That was surprisingly acute of Eric really. 

"You offered me an opportunity. I'm taking it."

"Not up to you to take anything if I don't want to give it and I told you I didn't." The tip of Eric's boot nudged Jeremy's chin. "Head up. Look at me."

If Eric had kept his boot raised, he'd have licked it and risked being punished, but the boot went back on the ground and Jeremy was left staring up at the man towering over him. It was a view he liked, even if it did put a crick in his neck. Mark hadn't been very tall. Not that it mattered. Control was in the attitude, not the physical presence.

Mark wasn’t gifted with either.

He waited for the pang of guilt that usually followed any disloyal thoughts about a Dom, even Mark, but it didn't come. Eric was right. Mark was an asshole. And he wasn't Jeremy's anything anymore.

"Got yourself a nice souvenir there."

Jeremy worked his jaw but didn't speak, waiting for a direct question.

"You really need to leave." The voice was as gentle as gravel could get. It scraped at Jeremy, taking off layers of denial and regret, leaving him lighter, expectant.

"I've been without a Dom for seven months. I can't find one who -- they're not enough. I'm getting desperate -- I need to…" He bowed his head again. "One night. It doesn't have to be now. I'll place myself at your convenience."

"You talk too fancy. What you're saying is if I snap my fingers and whistle, you'll come running, any time, no matter what?"

Jeremy lifted his head. "I'll crawl to you, yes. If I come is up to you."

Eric smiled for the first time. "Seem to recall that was what got you in trouble before, rabbit. You better at tying a knot in it these days?"

"Oh God." Jeremy closed his eyes, assaulted by the memories.

He'd come during a private scene, the first jolt spurting out an instant before Mark had given him permission. He'd known Mark so well, that he'd become complacent in his ability to anticipate every command and be ready to obey. If Mark hadn't paused to clear his throat so that he could utter, "Come" in appropriately portentous tones, Jeremy would have been praised for his quick obedience.

As it was, Mark had been coldly, spitefully furious with him. Jeremy's ass was too marked up to take more punishment, his nipples raw from too-tight clamps. Mark could still have whipped his stomach, his thighs, his back, but that didn't seem to occur to him. He'd settled for dressing Jeremy in obscenely tight shorts and scrawled "bad sub" and "came without permission" in bright red lipstick across his chest, using the stub of the lipstick to daub Jeremy's lips.

Really, it'd been quite inventive of him and Jeremy had been as aroused as he was penitent, planning a dozen ways to show his Master how sorry he was.

Forbidden to speak, blindfolded once they were inside the club, he'd stumbled around, collared and leashed until Mark had decided he wanted a drink. Being forced to order it himself had been an added irritation and Mark made the most of it, drawling out precise orders about the brand of sparkling water, the number of ice cubes, the thinness of the two slices of lime.

Overly fussy, perhaps, but Jeremy appreciated that precision and he'd knelt in obedient silence, hoping the the barman would give his Master the perfect drink.

Sadly, Mark hadn't been in the mood to be pleased with anything. "What the hell? Did you use an ax to chop this lime?"

"You want me to give you another slice…sir?"

The voice had cut through the buzz around him, husky, bored. Hot.

"I want a fresh drink! Now!" 

"No need. I’ll hook out the lime--"

"Did you put your fingers in my drink?"

There had been genuine horror in Mark's voice.

"My fingers are clean. I just washed them in your over-priced water."

Jeremy had winced, as stunned as Mark, the small movement tugging on the leash and attracting Mark's attention. He'd picked up the glass and thrown the contents into Jeremy's face. "That’s all it’s good for now. I'm going to talk to the manager. When Paul hears about this, you’re fired. And you can get a towel and clean up this mess. If there's a single drop on him when I get back…"

The shock of the ice water hitting him had made Jeremy gasp. The ice had hurt too, the three lumps striking his temple and cheek. That didn't matter. Mark walking away, leaving him kneeling, his leash dangling in his lap, that did. He'd felt bereft, his chest heaving as he tried to get himself under control and not cause a fuss.

He'd managed to stop shivering when he sensed someone in front of him, a disturbance of the air. Someone crouching down, the rough swipe of an already damp towel over his face and chest. 

"Shot too soon, huh?"

The towel dropped into Jeremy's lap. He'd waited for a perfunctory scrub across his thighs and instead got his balls gripped and squeezed brutally tight until he was sweating, moans pouring out of him, anguished, desperate, clinging to the command not to speak like a lifeline.

"I had a man come without permission when I was using him. By the time I'd finished explaining why I didn't like that, his balls were twice the size and the prettiest purple you ever did see. You got off easy."

The man had let go and Jeremy had whimpered, his mouth hanging open, tears soaking the blindfold. God, that had hurt. Pure pain, unrelenting, precise, perfect. He'd deserved agony like that for his failure, but it wasn't this man's place to impose it.

"Still, you took that well." Ice touched Jeremy's lips and he'd gagged when the cube was shoved into his mouth, followed by the other two that'd been in the drink. Even partially melted, they were big enough to leave his cheeks distended, spit drooling out. "Keep them in."

Why wasn't anyone interfering? Why wasn't Mark hurrying back to rescue him? His teeth aching, his tongue numb, Jeremy had waited for his ordeal to end.

A finger warm, big, had run over his shoulder. Mark had used rope on him earlier, trussing him up, and the skin was abraded there, a raw patch of red. Mark had blamed the rope, not his technique. The finger had hurt. The lime juice that followed hurt more.

Jeremy had squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold as the lime slices were ground to pulp against his grazed skin, the vicious sting bright and piercing.

"Oh you're good. I like you," the man had said with a chuckle. "If you want to be owned for real, look me up. I live down by the docks. I'll give you an hour or two if I'm in the mood and let you make all the noise you like."

The towel had rubbed off all the lipstick on his chest and the melting ice had cleaned his lips. When Mark finally returned, he'd been furious -- again -- and Jeremy had been…thoughtful. 

Because the minute or two with an arrogant, infuriating man whose face he'd never seen had left him aching with frustration once the outrage had simmered down to heat. Mark couldn't match that rough and ready ability to use what came to hand in a deliciously devious way. Mark couldn't bring his cock up hard and stiff with a painful squeeze of his balls because Mark wasn't into CBT, not one little bit.

And Mark had left him alone.

It'd all crumbled like a sand castle after that, but with no way of finding who the man had been, Jeremy had settled for making do with unsatisfactory sessions that bored him.

A chance meeting with a friend who'd been at the bar that night, on the other side of the room with his Dom, had been enlightening. No one had interfered because word had spread fast who the bartender was. Jeremy had a name -- the Owner -- and a starting point.

The Owner. Cheesy as hell, but from what his friend had said, his subs called him that, and never to his face.

"Because for the few hours they're with him, he owns them, body and soul," Sam had explained with an enjoyable little shiver.

"Have you ever? With him?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam shuddered. “I'd piss my pants if he even looked at me. He's into seriously kinky stuff and he plays hard. Too hard for most people. He's this big, scary loner. The Big Bad Wolf who really does eat you up. He leaves a scar on any sub he's pleased with. A circle on their ass."

"Or an "O"," Jeremy had pointed out. Not that he believed it.

"God, yes, of course." Sam had widened his eyes when he got it. "Anyway, word is, you get that scar whether you want it or not. His choice, not yours."

"That's bullshit," Jeremy had said. As a sub, the thought of it was queasily exciting, as a lawyer, he was skeptical. "Urban legend. Show me the ass and I might take you seriously. That would be assault. He'd be in jail."

"He doesn't play with the kind of guys who'd go to the cops over a dime-sized scar on their ass. They're probably covered in scars anyway. He doesn't play with newbies."

"He wanted to play with me," Jeremy had pointed out. His skin was unmarked. No tattoos, no piercings, a pristine canvas. He always felt a pang when the bruises from a session faded, but he didn't want anything permanent.

Sam had tossed back the last of his latte. "He just said that to scare you."

"It didn't. I'm going to find him and take him up on his offer."

"Yes, right. Sure you are. Since when did you have a death wish? Look, I hear Mark's free and you two always seemed to click. Why not go over there, play nice, beg to be taken back--"

"Mark would have to crawl to get me back, not the other way around. And if he did, I wouldn't want him."

"Oh, well, if you're going to be like _that_ about it…"

Eric's voice broke into his thoughts. "You were fun to play with."

Jeremy glared at him, his temper flaring. "I wasn't yours to touch. Not then. I was owned."

"He left you alone," Eric pointed out. "I didn't steal you, anyway. I just borrowed you for a minute or two. If he'd been taking better care of you, that wouldn't have been possible."

That was undeniably true, but it still didn't excuse what Eric had done. 

Eric crouched down, the way he'd done in the club that night. "You loved everything I did."

Honesty with a Dom was common sense as well as basic courtesy. "Yes. That's why I'm here. I want more."

"Greedy, demanding, pushy… I don't go in for that."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Please. You'd love having something to punish me for."

"I don't need a reason to punish a sub. I do it because it's what I like to do." Eric was close enough that Jeremy could smell him, an intoxicating blend of leather and man. "You could be perfect for me in every way and I'd still hurt you. It wouldn't get you any mercy."

"Then what incentive would I have to obey you?"

Eric stood again and gave him a disgusted look, his mouth twisted as if he'd tasted something rotten. "You're a fucking sub. You live to obey. You don't need a goddamn incentive to do something that gets you hot."

It was an unusual way of looking at it, but it made sense in a way.

"Good behavior is usually rewarded."

"With me, it's expected." Eric shook his head as if he'd realized how far he'd drifted from his original position. "No. I'm out of the scene. I'm done."

"Why?"

Eric's answer was predictable. "None of your fucking business."

"You're buzzed from hitting me, from having me kneel for you. I can see you're hard from here. You want this as much as I do."

He let his gaze go directly to the promising bulge in Eric's pants. Jesus, the guy was hung. The thought of that monster shoved up his ass made Jeremy feel light-headed with lust. He could take it, but God, it would fucking hurt. He'd beg for every inch if he had to.

"You're pissing me off so much, you'd have to be suicidal to let me tie you up."

"I'd trust you to know when to stop."

"You'd have to. I wouldn't let you use a safe word."

Hearing that confirmed made Jeremy's heart pound. Stupid to agree to that, but it was the ultimate fantasy high for him, giving up every scrap of control.

And really, he could scream his safe word until he was hoarse and still be ignored by a Dom too into the scene to want to stop or convinced that he knew the sub better than the sub knew himself. It hadn't happened to him, but it had to a friend. Lyndon had been so traumatized that he'd dropped out of the scene for good. Physically, he'd been fine, or no worse than usual, but the mental damage had been intense. Safe words were useless if a Dom ignored them.

"I'd know that going in. It'd be my choice to agree, to trust you not to cross the lines."

"Yeah, but you don't know where I draw them. And no amount of screaming or begging would get me to move them if I was doing something you didn't like and I did."

It was said too matter-of-factly to be arrogant. _My game, my rules, and the dice are loaded._

Fair enough.

"Would I know what those limits were?"

Eric shrugged. "Not going to happen, remember?"

Yeah, right. Jeremy had had enough of the flirting. He rose to his feet without permission, and met Eric's gaze.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Eric growled, his hand landing on Jeremy's shoulder, heavy as a blow. He pushed down. "On your knees, rabbit."

Jeremy twisted free. "I take orders from my Dom. No one else."

Eric narrowed his eyes realizing the trap he'd walked into. "Think you're clever?"

"I know I'm desperate. Am I worried I'm pushing you? Yes. Do I wish you had the balls to admit you want me? Too fucking right."

"Never been told I was a coward before."

Jeremy shook his head. "Obviously you had your reasons for quitting the scene. I don't want to pry, but if you tell me that you're genuinely not interested in returning, not even for a night, if I'm causing you distress by being so persistent and bringing up bad memories, I'll apologize and leave. If there's the slightest chance you'll change your mind, I'll--"

Eric slashed his hand through the air, silencing Jeremy. "I'm not just into pain. I like humiliating my subs. Like leaving them nowhere to hide, opening them up. If you were a toy, I'd rip the stuffing out of you."

Jeremy closed his eyes for a moment, arousal racing through him, a fire in his blood. "God, yes. Please. I'd love it. I've never had anyone who wanted to go that far before."

"How about you audition for the part before I give you your big break?" Eric grinned at him, a sharp, savage flash of his teeth. "You'll enjoy it, even if I don't guarantee I'll give you more when it's over."

"What did you have in mind?"

Eric shook his head. "Say 'yes' or walk away."

"Yes," Jeremy said instantly.

That was all it took. Eric walked over to him, grabbed his hair, and pushed his head down. "You walk like this. Struggle and you'll lose hair and I'll grab another handful."

His scalp burned, but Jeremy nodded, accepting the increase in pain as a reward.

Eric walked back toward the door he'd thrown Jeremy out of, his strides long, moving fast enough that Jeremy stumbled as he tried to keep up. He had the feeling that if he fell down, he'd finish the walk being dragged. He wondered if Eric owned a large club. He'd sure got the whole caveman persona down.

The room fell silent as they entered and Jeremy tried not to smile, pleasure and anticipation filling him.

Showtime.


End file.
